Twenty-Four Hours

Twenty-Four Hours

By Michelle Malfoy

Chapter Nine

"Parcelny," Ron scowled twenty minutes later, sitting on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest. "Check, Harry." He nodded towards the chessboard on his nighttable. Sure enough, his queen had moved in such a way that it was now three spaces diagonally from Harry's king.

"Knight to E7," Harry ordered his knight. It promptly knocked Ron's queen off of the board. "Yeah, it's dumb all right. Parcelny... I bet there's no such thing."

"Rook to E7," Ron commanded. "Yeah, there is. I heard Mum talking about it once, when Ginny got her acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Apparantly it said that she was a parcelnist, or whatever it was, and Mum took her into St. Mungo's for testing."

"And?" Harry asked. "Queen to A4."

"And, she passed, obviously. Then she took her to see a therapist, to learn to control her powers, but apparently the therapist forbade her from telling anyone. I found out by eavesdropping, and Mum caught me... she said that if I told anyone, there would be serious consequences. Bishop to E7, and checkmate."

"But you told someone, right? I mean, you wouldn't just keep that a secret from everyone, would you?" Harry asked with a smile. He knew Ron well enough to know that he wouldn't keep such a great secret from everyone.

"Nah, you're right, Harry. I sold the info to Fred and George, in exchange for them to remove all those spiders from my room. And you know, there's one way for you to get out of check, I was wrong."

"There is?"

"Yeah, right there." Ron pointed to Harry's pawn.

"Oh... pawn to E7, then." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Knight to E7, and you're a goner. That's checkmate."

"Yeah, Harry, he creamed you," observed Dean Thomas. "And would you mind putting that light out? It's already half eleven."

"Sorry, mate," Ron called, and with a muttered "Nox!", the light went out.

"'Night, Ron," Harry said, and within moments, he fell asleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, Michelle, back in the Slytherin dorms, was having just as much enjoyment. "So, where were you?" Brittany demanded.

"I was..." began Michelle while she tried to regain a sneer in her voice. "I was on a failed experiment. With Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Gemma Marsney sneered. "What on Earth were you doing with Potter?"

"I was... delivering him to the Dark Lord," Michelle blurted out. "But he escaped."

"Dark Lord?" Brittany wrinkled her nose. She was one of the few Slytherins, first-year or not, who appeared to want nothing to do with the Dark Lord. "Ah, but of course," she said, smiling. "Your father requested that you do so, surely." Michelle nodded, although it was only a half-truth. Brittany scowled. "It's really stupid, the worshipping of a half-blood-"

"Brit," Gemma sighed, "you've told us this already."

"Many times," chimed in Rebecca. "It's really getting annoying."

"Hear, hear," announced Michelle and Gemma loudly. They smiled at each other.

"Yeah, but you still respect him," argued Brittany.

"But since when has your opinion mattered to us?" quipped Gemma sensibly. Michelle and Rebecca nodded approvingly. Seeing that she was getting nowhere, Brittany changed the subject.

"So, Michelle," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice, "who's your brother's latest girlfriend? Zabini, wasn't it?"

"Nah, he's well over her," Michelle replied with a smile. "And I've told you, Brit, he doesn't go for redheads. She indicated her friend's wavy red-brown hair tumbling down her back. "Or eleven-year-olds, for that matter." Gemma sighed.

"If only," she murmured. Michelle tossed a silver-and-green pillow at her. "Ah," Gemma wailed, purely to get on Michelle's nerves. "If I cuddle it like this -" she relaxed it against her chest - "it feels almost like Draco."

"EW!!!" Michelle shouted. "Gross!!! No way, Marsney. Or I'll have to get him to file another of those what-do-you-call-its, restraining orders. Parkinson was very displeased when Father filed that last one against her."

"I heard that!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson from the adjacent room. She had been given her own room because she had had many restraining orders filed against her, three of which were from the Malfoys. [A/N: Three for good measure, not indicating any three specific Malfoys. Just thought I'd make that clear.]

"Shut it, Parkinson!" Gemma hollered back. "You're not allowed to talk to us, remember?" She grinned at the memory of Professor Snape attempting to put a padlock on her door, knowing that nearly all locking charms could be broken by some sort of countercurse. And it was true - a house-elf called Blarna had been appointed to come every morning at seven, specially remove the padlock from Pansy's door, and deliver her breakfast. From there she would usher the girl to classes, all of which were taken individually and not with her fellow seventh-years, during her professors' "free periods."

Gemma received no answer from the seventeen-year-old. The only response to her shout was, in fact, Michelle snatching back her pillow. A moment later, someone knocked on their dormitory door.

"Come in," Michelle called.

"Hey, Michelle," Dylan Burkhard greeted, walking in.

"Argh!" Gemma yelled, pulling her blankets over her so as not to reveal her nightgown. "How'd you get in here, Burkhard?" she demanded, muffled from the blankets pressing against her.

"Easy," Dylan said, and showed off his Thunderjet, the latest broom model. Michelle and Rebecca let out long, low whistles. "Gift from your father, in fact." He indicated Michelle's photo of Lucius with a jerk of his chin.

Looking him up and down, Michelle observed, Dylan did have a rather nice appearance to him. He was slightly muscular, with midnight-black hair and turquoise eyes. She had known him for about a year, ever since Draco had kidnapped Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and the Burkhard twins at Quality Quidditch Supplies at the end of the previous summer. They had made up to treat each other like siblings, and so they did. Evelyn Burkhard, Dylan's sister, had been too afraid to attend Hogwarts after her horrible experience with the Death Eaters. She had ran away from home and Dylan had recently received a letter from her, informing him that she was a first-year in an American magic school. It was apparently called Jetstrike and was located right near Evelyn's parents' home.

The Burkhard parents, upon hearing that Dylan had been working for the Dark Side, had disowned him. Reluctanly Lucius had accepted Dylan into their "family," although Michelle would not admit that she had always slightly fancied him.

"Hello? Michelle?" Dylan asked, waving his hand amusedly in front of Michelle's eyes.

"What? Oh, sorry Dyl. I was... just daydreaming."

"About Potter?" Dylan spat on the ground, and sat on the edge of her bed. He leaned in closer, and Michelle felt a tingling feeling rush through her body. He wasn't going to... not in front of all these other girls... But no, he just whispered in her ear, "Meet me in the Room of Requirement, okay? Tomorrow at three o'clock." Then, after wishing the girls a good night, he walked out.

"Oooh, Michelle," Brittany drawled, "Dylan Burkhard! Wow, you sure know how to pick 'em."

"Shut up," Michelle laughed. "Nah, we're just friends."

"That's what they all say," quipped Rebecca with a smile. "You're sooo lucky, Michelle. I mean, Dylan!" The three girls (not Michelle, obviously) chorused into a fit of ooohs and giggles.

"And plus," Gemma added, finally drawing her blankets away from her, "she's got him on her Quidditch team. Those locker rooms, from what I've heard, aren't the best at differentiating from the boys' and girls' showers," she pointed out slyly.

"No," agreed Michelle, "No, they're really not."

This left nothing more for the girls to do than giggle.

* * *

About a month and a half later...

"Professor?" Michelle asked, leaping out of bed. "What are you doing here? It's not about Parkinson, is it?" Her Head of House eyed her cautiously for a moment, and then said:

"No, it's not about Miss Parkinson. This, Michelle, is about you." Michelle's eyes widened. "You, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley are each required to drop a class and begin taking training sessions to control your parcelny. Yes, Miss Malfoy, you are a parcelnist. In case you hadn't noticed, it is your eleventh birthday today."

"It is?" Michelle asked, her eyes flipping to her calendar. Sure enough, underneath the date, it was labeled My Birthday! That was all the proof she needed. "A... parcelnist? Really?"

"Yes, now quit your jabbering. I have been requested to ask you which class you have third period on Mondays and Wednesdays." He sighed heavily, as though it was taking years off of his life to waste time dealing with eleven-year-old girls.

"Erm... Transfiguration," Michelle replied.

"Lucky you," her Professor mumbled. "The Headmaster wishes that rather than attending Transfiguration at those times, you are to report to the Room of Requirement."

"Sir?" Michelle asked, her white-blond eyebrows shooting straight up. Her professor handed her a map. It was carefully drawn, and appeared to show all the passageways in the school. "What - what is this? Where did you get it?"

Draco's head poked out from behind Snape. "Nicked it off Potter," he announced proudly. Michelle rolled her eyes. Did he have to be better than Potter in everything? She was starting to feel bad for the Gryffindor boy - he had a horrible life, despite the constant publicity, money, fame, etc.

"Draco!" was all Michelle could explain. "When did you get here?"

"This morning, actually," her brother replied. He gave her a look that said quite clearly, 'I'll talk to you later!"

Michelle nodded. "So, are you taking these parcelny lessons too?"

"You could say that," Draco agreed. 'Yeah, that's Draco for you,' thought Michelle, 'always a mystery.'

"Except to Parkinson," Draco reminded her.

"H--h--how'd you do that?" Michelle demanded.

"You didn't know?" Draco asked. "It's part of parcelny. I can see all your thoughts related to me, and vice versa. One would normally have to have a strong mental connection with the other, but as we are related by blood it is relatively easy."

"Yes, Professor," Michelle replied with a cheeky grin. Draco smiled at her.

"I trust that you will cope on your own, then?" Snape asked, with a glance just short of wistfulness shot at the siblings. The look faded quickly, and he returned to being Mr. Serious once again.

"Yeah," Draco assured him. "I won't run into my father again, don't worry."

"See to it that you don't," Snape replied amusedly.

"So?" Michelle asked, curling into her bed with her kitten. "What happened with Father?"

"Well," Draco began, "he believed me that you were only supporting the Plan, and apparently he believed the same for Dylan." With a suspicious look, he added, "you are supporting the Plan, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah, Draco," Michelle replied uncomfortably. "All the way."

Draco snorted. "You look - and sound - like an American when you do that," he observed. "Completely clueless, like Goyle." Michelle laughed weakly.

"Okay, that is it!" Draco exclaimed. "You are not fooling me, little sister. I know that you are keeping something from me, and I have just the weapon to make you tell."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Draco said with a laugh. "I could tell Father that you're not supporting the Plan..."

"Fine, then," Michelle sighed. "You want the truth?"

"The truth," Draco echoed.

"The truth is... I fancy Harry Potter."